


Whiskey Shot & A Glass Of Cold Rye

by aPaperCupCut



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Time Shenanigans, doppelgangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPaperCupCut/pseuds/aPaperCupCut
Summary: So a mistake may have been made. By whom and for what reason is unknown.Whatever the origin, Wilson was now stuck with an eccentric copy of himself who may or may not be keeping secrets.





	

There was a sound echoing in his head, and a ball of ice forming in his gut. Did he really want to do this?

 

Of course he did. Of course.

 

Wilson was about to face the man who had  ruined his life, who had tricked him and cast him into this despicable hell. Heck, this was his fourth - and most successful - attempt at revenge and freedom.

 

So why was he so nervous?

 

The last world had been harsh on him, filled with darkness and the unknown. But despite that, he only heard the barest whispers of the Things he'd gotten so used to hearing. Wilson was more than grateful, but it still concerned him.

 

Had something changed? Was Maxwell still there, or was this just a trap? Wilson had thought - perhaps naively - that the man would stick to the “rules.” Wilson didn't actually know what the rules were, but this adventure of his  _ must _ have some sort of point.

 

Now, however, doubt gripped his heart as he stood before the last door.

 

His hand trembled, but before long it came down with sudden determination. This was his best chance at freedom; why waste it on suspicion and paranoia? Wilson would rather attempt at freedom than waste away in the abominable horrors that lived here.

 

And so his hand came down solidly, and the Machine rumbled awake.

 

* * *

He was swept away by a curtain of darkness, clammy hands squeezing his chest, before he opened his eyes again to darkness.

 

Darkness? Complete darkness!

 

The Grue!

 

He sat up, but before his panic devolved into complete hysteria, a light lit up nearby.

 

A pathway?

 

He rose, but was hit with a rush of black spots and dizziness. He landed onto his knees, the wind knocked out of his faltering sails. 

 

After a few moments, however, he heard the twang of…. music?

 

What was music doing down here?

 

It had a repetitive rhythm, a ragtime, classic tune whistling in the darkness. Wilson wasn't overly fond of such music - too many bad memories from childhood soured the cheery warmth most associated with it. Perhaps Maxwell had a soft spot for it?

 

A burst of energy forced him to his feet; remembering Maxwell reignited his determination, and curiosity rekindled his hope. Another light - what he now saw was a torch at the top of a pillar - lit up across from the first. A dull, red pathway was set starkly against the darkness.

 

Wilson began walking.

 

As he walked, the tune grew in volume. His thoughts seemed to tumble in and out of his mind, his focus entirely on what he would find at the end of the pathway. Imagine his surprise when, instead of Maxwell, he saw someone so familiar to him his skin nearly burst in horror.

 

Sitting on a magnificent blackened throne of Shadow, surrounded by eroded stone pillars and the staring eyes of the Things in the shadows, sitting still with a barely rising chest, was Wilson.

 

But Wilson….

 

Was here.

 

But he was also over there.

 

The other Wilson seemed just as confused as he was - he could feel his own nose twitching upwards, eyes watering and brows furrowing, a confused frown forming against his cheeks.

 

It was like looking into a mirror - when you raised your hand to brush your hair away, you watched your reflection mirror the action mindlessly. But this wasn't mindlessly - the other was leaning backwards, adam's apple bobbing uncertainly.

 

They stared, the ragtime tune clanging between them. Wilson stood there, as clean as he could possible be for his last meeting with Maxwell, carrying his backpack, heavy with supplies and confusion. But Wilson also sat across from himself, eyes even heavier with sleeplessness, face worn with the slightest beginnings of a beard. His hair was everywhere, flying into his face and clotted with sweat and some kind of black crust.

 

Then Wilson twitched - the one on the chair did, anyway. Wilson - the one who had expected a despicable old man, not himself - shivered, and turned off the creaking gramophone. The other him stared at himself with wide, grateful eyes, and the two duplicates were plunged into silence.

 

They stared.

 

They did not speak. What was there to say? ‘Oh, I guess you're me, but I'm me, so who's me? Is my entire life a lie? Did I have some random twin I never knew about that Maxwell apparently dragged in as well, for no clear purpose? Are you just one of Them? Am I just crazy?’

 

So they just stayed there, the other Wilson staring up at himself with wide, glazed eyes, looking ready to cry at any moment. Wilson, for his part, felt the same, but had better composure.

 

A loud, gurgling, burbling interrupted their tense staring contest. Wilson reddened, exhaustion and the faint echoes of hysteria and confusion twisting into a foul concoction alongside embarrassment. He collapsed onto his rump, right beside the foot of his copy’s throne. He mindlessly unpacked the bits of dried meat he had stored, carefully chewing on the tough flesh. He felt numb, and maybe was delirious as well. He offered a piece of meat to Wilson.

 

“....I am not hungry.” The croaking, whispering voice urged Wilson to insist, but he flinched away instead. His hand felt like it was detached, floating away on a bit of twine.

 

Wilson swallowed, coughed, and chewed on the proffered piece.

 

The other’s eyes glimmered, his cheeks twitching in familiar disdain- disdain at himself. What a strange concept. “I…. do not need sustenance.”

 

“....How did you get down here?”

 

“I was looking for Maxwell. He…. tricked me.” He grunted, and for a moment Wilson swore that the shadows grew deeper. “Again.”

 

“So it was a trap.”

 

“Correct. The key….”

 

And then there was his own hand in his own face. He choked, yanking his head back, little arcs of bizarre heat crawling between their skin. The hand, however, wasn't reaching for him; instead, it brushed the divining rod he had carefully packed away. It darted away when the other saw that Wilson understood.

 

“That's the key? What happened?”

 

“Maxwell was trapped here. He tricked me into freeing him, and now I'm stuck here.” Not really an actual summary of events… But Wilson was tired, and had other things on his mind.

 

Wilson eyebrows furrowed, a thought rising to the surface of his brain. “Could it be that….”

 

“That we're completely different copies? I suppose there's a chance. How many siblings did you have?” His eyes lit up, excitement leaning his stick-like figure forward. Wilson leaned backward, partly out of fear and partly out of anxiety. The flickers of electricity were reigniting, raging across Wilson’s flesh like catcoon claws on bark.

 

“Just two - both younger than me, and actually only half-siblings.”

 

“Same here. What were your parents occupations?” Wilson wished he would shut up. His head was like bullet, whooshing away from his body even as his heart pounded like the sound of metal hitting bodies.

 

“My father was a doctor, but not a very prolific one. My mother had a small side job as an accountant.”

 

The other Wilson nodded. Wilson resisted sighing in relief - maybe now the painful mockery of conversation would end…!

 

“So what are the differences….” Oh dear lord, would he ever shut up? Wilson never knew making conversation with himself would be so excruciatingly tedious.

 

“How did you meet Maxwell?”

 

“Through the radio. Did you make the divining rod?”

 

“Yes, I did. Did you meet Chester?”

 

“Yes.” The other Wilson squinted. “I've been down here for…. perhaps a month. How long did you spend in the Worlds Maxwell created, not counting the very first?”

 

“I didn't exactly keep track of time, but I suppose for at least several months.”

 

Here, the two paused in their interrogation. (Finally.) It was clear that their questions were leading to nowhere, just as it was clear that the two were near identical copies. It was just that one happened to be trapped in some kind of nightmare throne and the other had been expecting to find Maxwell in his place. A new idea sprang to Wilson's mind, one which could explain the circumstances the two found themselves in. But his eyes were caught by the pulsating, leathery black hands that held the other Wilson in place.

 

“What are They keeping you here for?”

 

The other shook his head, sighing softly. “I don't know. The properties seem to have frozen most of my bodily functions and needs, and have slowed the aging process considerably. Maxwell was a mess when I arrived; he claimed to have been here for decades. He disintegrated into dust and ashes when I freed him.”

 

“If you have only been here for so short a time, perhaps freeing you would be better; you'll be weakened, no doubt, but you haven't been stuck here for so long that you'll die upon release.” Wilson squinted, staring up at himself with a searching expression. By his facial muscles, Wilson could tell that he wasn't receiving his idea that well.

 

The other shuddered, and the vines tightened their grip. “What makes you think that? And even if you did free me, you'd be trapped as well. No, we should just…. Just wait.”

 

Wait for what? But Wilson relented. He was too dizzy, too disoriented, to really process what was happening. He had an inkling of why, but he had no clue  _ why. _

 

Regardless, he was now stuck down here with limited supplies and a doppelganger.

 

“Do you know if those pillars can go out?”

 

“There are chests in the branching rooms - they all have food within them.”

  
Ok. So he was stuck down here with a strange doppelganger and a decent amount of food. Still not much of an improvement, but better.

**Author's Note:**

> idk if ill continue this. If anyone's interested i can try, but it kinda stands alone and the story I've got in mind just kind of meanders about.
> 
> But hey, if you've got any ideas, let me know and a spark may ignite!
> 
> Edit: cleaned it up, clarified some details, blanlah. Btw, this was inspired by my sister's game, which showed two Wilsons in the throneroom. Also this was wilsonxwilson leaning, pls don't kill me.


End file.
